


A Brand New Man

by ladyblahblah



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Plot Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Doomsday.  Just your average, everyday reunion fic . . . with a teensy tiny little twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brand New Man

**Author's Note:**

> DW has recently eaten both my brain and my life. Apologies to other fandoms I'm neglecting, but c'mon: have you _seen_ David Tennant? Also, apologies to anyone who might want to kill me after they read this. The bunny was evil this time. I mean it; it had horns and everything. Self-beta'd as usual, so there's no one to blame but myself.

  


 

 

 

Something was wrong. Rose Tyler could feel it.

Oh, not wrong in that aliens-invading, Earth-about-to-explode-in-a-ball-of-fire kind of way. She knew that kind of wrong. This wrong felt different. Wrong like . . . odd.

 _Not funny ha-ha_ , she thought wryly, trying to concentrate on the feeling. Something was just . . . off, somehow. Like there was something, somewhere, that didn’t belong, and oh, she wasn’t making any sense. She wasn’t a Time Lord, she reminded herself harshly. She wasn’t attuned to things in the same way. If something were wrong, somewhere in this universe, she would have no way of knowing it. Pretending otherwise didn’t bring the Doctor back; it only made her feel more alone.

Still, she hadn’t managed to shake the feeling all day. And now there was something else: the feeling, the certainty, that someone was watching her.

Not too surprising, she mused as she picked at a salad that she didn’t really want. The Torchwood in this world apparently wasn’t as clandestine an organization as the one back home, and she had become something of a minor celebrity. It had shocked her the first time she had seen her face on the cover of a tabloid, for all of five seconds before she laughed herself silly.

Every month or so someone—the girl at the market, a stranger on the train, once even a star-struck ten-year-old—asked for her autograph, but for the most part she was able to live her life fairly quietly. Still, every now and then, someone would quickly look away when she glanced at them, in that way that people do when they’ve been caught staring. It made her wonder why she had ever envied the models and actresses on the covers of the glossy magazines she had once loved. It was exhausting, being constantly watched like that.

But this didn’t seem like the normal sort of harmless ogling that she had almost grown used to. It felt different. Just as something felt ‘wrong’, she thought, exasperated with herself. She motioned for her check. She didn’t have psychic powers, she reminded herself sternly. They’d checked when she started work at Torchwood. Barely enough to recognize psychic paper, even with the training they’d provided.

Didn’t seem fair, she mused as she signed her name on the credit slip. Surely she should’ve picked up something while she had traveled with the Doctor. Maybe not anything grand, but _something_ at least.

She smiled wryly, standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. Life never turned out to be quite what you expected.

 

*****************************

 

The streets were crowded this time of day, and she was in a hurry to get back to the office. Cutting her lunch hour short was going to get her scolded by Mickey again, and Pete when he found out, and her mother when Pete told her. But she was more interested in the translation software R&D had sent up than in her lunch, so why shouldn’t she head back a bit early? Her mind was focused on the rest of the day ahead, on the late night that she would probably put in as well.

There was no reason for her to notice him.

But she did notice, that solitary man in the midst of the mid-day bustle, leaning against a building as though he hadn’t a care in the world. And staring.

At her.

Rose frowned slightly. Did she know him? He didn’t look familiar. But he hadn’t shifted his gaze when she’d seen him, was staring at her now as boldly as ever. Her muscles tensed automatically. Self-defense lessons had gone much better than psychic training. She could hold her own if need be, she reminded herself as she geared up to walk past him.

He didn’t grab her, didn’t touch her, didn’t so much as say a word as she sailed past. He simply watched her, his eyes glued to her form as though he meant to memorize her. Undeniably creepy, but ultimately harmless, she decided with a warm rush of relief.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door of the Torchwood building that the sense of familiarity hit her. She had never seen him before, she was certain of that. But still, there was something, like a flicker in the corner of your eye or that nagging feeling you get when an answer is just out of reach. She turned around to look at him again.

He was gone.

 

****************************

 

He had been in her thoughts all day, that familiar stranger. By the time she finally left for home, hours after most of the building was deserted, she had nearly convinced herself that it was all in her head. She must have met him somewhere, that was all, or at least seen him around. No, she didn’t know him. But she must have encountered him before for him to have triggered some memory or other, buried so deep that she couldn’t hope to unearth it.

Rose was tucked away in her flat by the time she allowed herself to think of it again. She had stripped herself of what she privately thought of as her Torchwood costume—elegantly simple black suit, careful makeup, tidy bun—and felt a bit more like herself now with her disheveled hair and rumpled pajamas. As she slipped on a pair of slippers her mind drifted back to her mystery man, and the knock at the door caught her completely by surprise.

It had better not be her mum again, she thought irritably. It was her own business, wasn’t it, if she wanted to work a little bit longer than everyone else? Or Mickey, trying to guilt her into coming down the pub for a bit. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Jake flirt with her ex-boyfriend while he pretended not to be interested. Which really only left Pete with work, which wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t already gotten changed and half-settled in.

For some reason, she wasn’t surprised to see him when she opened the door. Surprised a bit by the fact that she wasn’t surprised, yes, but oh god she was even beginning to _think_ like him.

“Hello?” she said warily, her hand still clutching the edge of the door. She could slam it shut quickly if she needed to, and since the time that an angry Isomander had followed her home she had replaced the original pine with heavy, solid oak. It would hold. “Can I help you?”

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” He ducked his head, unable to completely hide a self-deprecating smile. “Of course you don’t. You couldn’t.”

Rose frowned, looked him over. Average height, sandy blonde hair, slightly rumpled black suit over a lean build. “I’m sorry . . . do I know you?”

He looked up again, locked eyes with her. “You did do. Long time ago. A lifetime.”

As she stared into his eyes, she swore she saw something there. Something swirling, glimmering, beckoning to her. Something familiar. Oh, so familiar . . .

“Do you remember me, Rose?” he asked softly. His hand reached out, slowly, and wrapped around hers. “Do you recognize me?”

Perhaps it was the feel of that strong hand around hers. Perhaps it was the scent that had begun to tease at her nostrils when he stepped closer. Perhaps it was his eyes, filled with hope and trepidation and that swirling, golden familiarity.

Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. Her head felt suddenly light, and she forced herself to draw in a sharp breath.

“D-Doctor?”

The grin that split his face was different, but so similar, oh so achingly familiar, and then she was in his arms and he was spinning her as she laughed and gripped tight to his shoulders.

“How? What—how did you—the Void—you said—”

“Not yet,” he said, setting her on her feet in front of him. “First, tell me . . .” He gave her a lopsided grin. “How do I look?”

She covered her mouth to stifle what was either a laugh or a sob, she couldn’t say which. “You look . . . different,” she grinned madly.

“Good different or bad different?” he asked with a wink.

She had to laugh at that. “Just different. And no, you’re not ginger, sorry.”

“Ah, well. One of these days. More important things going on now.” His face turned serious. “Much more important.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek, and Rose found herself praying that she wouldn’t have a heart attack now that he had finally found her. “Rose,” he murmured. “I never . . . I didn’t get to say . . .”

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. “I knew. I always knew.”

“You did,” he smiled at her. “But some things need to be said, don’t they? Words have a power of their own. So I have to tell you, Rose Tyler . . .” He rested his forehead against hers and took a shaky breath. “I love you.”

She gave an equally shaky laugh. “Quite right, too.”

And then his lips were on hers, soft and warm and not at all the ones she had imagined kissing so many times, but oh, so wonderful. His arms around her were different, his scent was slightly changed, the hair beneath her fingertips was cropped short instead of madly rumpled. It was different. It was her Doctor. It was heaven.

They broke apart at last and he gathered her close, his face buried in her hair.

“I think I like this regeneration,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and felt his chest rumble as he laughed. Oh, the sound of that double heartbeat was blissful.

“I rather like it, too.” He eased her back, smiling down at her. “So you don’t mind, then?”

“I . . .” She hesitated. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t miss the sight of that rail-thin body in its pinstriped suit, just as she missed a battered leather jacket and oversized ears. But it was easier, it seemed, the second time around. His eyes fixed on hers again, and she couldn’t help but beam. “Don’t mind a bit. ‘Specially not if you’re gonna kiss me like that again.”

His gaze grew heated. “Consider it a promise.” He leaned down until his mouth grazed her ear; she shivered at the rush of warm breath over her skin. “I can show you the stars, Rose Tyler. If you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” she breathed. He pulled back, and she blinked suddenly hazy eyes. “Hold on a tic, that reminds me: where’s the TARDIS? Can’t be nearby, or we’d have picked up on it.”

“That’s my clever Rose,” he grinned. “Torchwood’s finest. I couldn’t take the TARDIS. The rift I found was too small; she wouldn’t have fit.”

“So you just went through on your own? Is that what . . .?” She gestured, indicating his new body.

“Ah, no.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “Shot by an alien, actually. Kind of a big bug. Not my most dignified death, I must say.”

“But you survived. Back and better than ever.”

A slow smile overtook his face. “Too right.” His mouth was on hers again, pulling her under with wave after wave of bone-melting kisses.

“But . . . wait . . . if we don’t have the TARDIS . . .” she gasped between kisses as he started to trail his lips down the side of her neck, “how are we going to get home?”

“Ah!” He jumped back, and she giggled despite her frustration at the familiar move. “It’s no trouble at all, really. Not since I’ve figured it out. You remember the Cyberman invasion? Right, of course you do,” he said without waiting for her response. “The way they made it through was by getting people to help them along. If they wanted it badly enough they could see their own dearly departed, and the more they saw the more they wanted it. You, Rose,” he said with a lopsided grin, “were enough to get me through.”

She felt herself blushing. “So how’re we gonna get back across?”

“Ah, I’ve taken care of that; spread the word to a few people, and with them wishing and hoping and praying and thinking of us, it won’t be all that difficult. Not if we can borrow one or two things from Torchwood.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. So . . . just like that, then? I can go home?” She couldn’t disguise the hope in her voice, didn’t bother to try.

“Just like that, Rose. It’s easy, really. Just a matter of wanting it badly enough. So the question is, I suppose . . . do you want to come with me?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. Then, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” She was clinging to him now, laughing. This time she kissed him, attacking him with the passion she had always worked to keep so tightly checked. There was no need to do so now. He responded with equal fervor.

“We’ll need to set up a cover for you until we can get what you need to send us home,” she panted, pushing his jacket from his shoulders. Her tongue poked out as she gave him one of her cheekiest grins. “John Smith, is it?”

“Oh no,” he said. He grasped her waist to pull her closer. “Been using that name for centuries now, and it’s so common. Thought it was about time for a new one.”

“A new name?” Her eyebrows rose and his tie was flung aside. She nipped at the soft skin beneath his jaw and delighted in the feeling of his arms tightening around her. “I can’t believe it. So c’mon, tell me. What’d you pick?”

“Harold Saxon.” He leaned back, smiling wolfishly. “Like it?”


End file.
